


these nightmares that come back to haunt you

by secretfeanorian



Series: made of starlight [9]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings Online
Genre: all the pets - Freeform, correction: all the dead pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:14:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6389716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Rawlind...Many days have passed since I last saw you. Many leagues have you traveled. We are both changed...can you feel it?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	these nightmares that come back to haunt you

_The end is coming, everybody run now, we’re gonna live forever, gonna live forever tonight.  
_

* * *

The wall connects painfully with Rawlind’s back as soon as the three are hidden safely within the culverts. Her heart is pounding so rapidly she can barely distinguish one heartbeat from the next and her lungs frantically fight to suck in enough air to allow her to hold onto consciousness.  
  
Epitaph nudges her knee nervously and she grasps onto the lynx’s fur and clings desperately, panting and trembling. She feels concerned eyes on her and squeezes her own tight before opening them and looking at Derufin. Duilin’s body is facing away from her now, watching the entrance to the culverts, his back and body tense.  
  
“You look as if you have seen a ghost, Rawlind, and if that terrible apparition’s words are to be believed, mayhap you have!”  
  
Rawlind tries to snort, but all that escapes is a feeble breath. Her hands clench into fists, but still they shake. _The daughter, the daughter, the daughter_ continues to echo through her head. “The daughter is not worthy of mention.” She scoffs in a low whisper and Derufin tips his head slightly in confusion. “That…bastard,” She hisses, venom dripping from her voice and she suddenly feels her stomach roll unpleasantly. Suppressed memories are clawing their way to the surface and dimly, she feels tears begin to roll down her cheeks.  
  
A hand rests on her shoulder and she shakes it off, swiping a hand under her eyes to dry them. “There’s got to be something good about…” She draws off, her mind working frantically to find something else to focus on.  
  
Duilin laughs from the entrance. His brother opens his mouth to say something, but Rawlind cuts him off. “Ah ha!” She jumps to her feet. “Haunts him still in the **northern** lands!” She crows with delight, her mind now firmly turned from memories of terror.  
  
“What?” Derufin asks, but Rawlind doesn’t give any other response than a muttered “Ha” and Derufin returns to his original topic. “Is it true? Was this creature spared death?” The smile immediately drops from Rawlind’s face and she nods solemnly, not saying anything. Derufin’s face darkens at the response and he sighs loudly. “How can we hope to fight against such foes, if even a true strike from a keen blade cannot sure them of this existence?”  
  
Rawlind shakes her head slowly. “I don’t know,” She confesses and in the stillness that follows, the sounds of Mordor’s army amassing above echoes through the space.  
  
“Please,” she finally says, breaking the stillness and causing both brothers to look at her. “Please tell no one of that creature’s words here today."  
  
Duilin reluctantly nods his agreement. “I suppose it is for the best.” Derufin mutters, “But I do not like it. If the armies we face are led by creatures that cannot die, how long must we be expected to fight? How long must we stand, Rawlind?”  
  
“As long as there is strength in our bones.” Rawlind replies forcefully. “We must stand for as long as we are able and find a way around whatever trap or trick has been sent our way before our legs give out from under us.” She surprises perhaps even herself with the venom her words and she stops to breathe deeply before continuing. “We do what we must, and all that we can. If you can give more, give it. Ensure the world…” Her voice breaks briefly, “Ensure the world is better for your having been in it.”  
  
Neither brother responds, but the conviction seems to return to their eyes. Satisfied, Rawlind turns and descends further into the culvert. Despite her own renewed conviction, her steps are heavy and slow and the twins reach the ranger camp long before she does.  
  
Damrod calls her over when he sees her approach and she gives both Daefaroth and Ebony half-hearted pats before moving to speak with the ranger captain. “Derufin tells me that you were able to do some damage to the great ram, and it will be some time before Grond can be used against Minas Tirith.” Rawlind nods in confirmation, her hands once again trembling. “Why then has the color drained from your face, and why do you bear that stricken expression?”  
  
The thought of telling Damrod the truth weighs heavily on Rawlind, but she knows the soldier already fights on with only a tiny amount of hope to lean on. To tell him that the leaders of the Enemy’s armies cannot be defeated in battle, and that death holds no permanence for such creatures of evil, would surely dash away any of his hopes that yet remain.  
  
“Cheer up, Rawlind! Your efforts have bought the defenders of Minas Tirith some time and those extra hours, however brief, might prove the difference. Evil cannot fight forever. Faramir will be found, and our battles will be won!” Damrod pauses, watching Rawlind’s face closely, taking in her still pale expression and the dark circles under her eyes. “Get some rest if you can, Rawlind! Soon we will look to joining the defenders of the White City, and our battle will begin anew. But for now you have done well.”  
  
Damrod smiles heartily at her, but Rawlind can think only of the foe that was once Mordirith, and her heart is heavy. She smiles back, but it doesn’t reach her eyes and she moves slowly back to where her collection of animals are sitting. She plops down, leans against Daefaroth and abruptly realizes something. The companions that had accompanied her though Angmar were all dead and buried.  
  
Her face darkens as she thinks about it. Patchwork, thrown into the flames of Carn Dum by Mordirith. Hawthorn, pushed into Helecham’s polluted waters in Urugarth.  Kuive, killed by Amarthiel at Tham Mirdain. For a moment, her eyes soften at the thought of Narmeleth, but reminded again of Mordirith, her brow furrows again in anger and frustration. Arinanka…Rawlind feels a fell chill race up her spine at the memory of the cursed Rift of Nurz Ghashu. “Dark enough days” She whispers desperately and shoves the thoughts of Thaurlach as far away as she can manage. Mairon and Moondancer come to mind last of all, and a tear rolls down her face unnoticed.  
  
Fea hops gently onto her shoulder, shaking her out of her reverie. She pats the eagle’s head gently and then he spreads his wings and flies gently through the area of the culverts that has been functioning as a base of operations for the city’s last defenders. She winces when his talons dig into her shoulder, but gives no other reaction. She tips her head back and stares at the ceiling, brow still furrowed. She can feel the echo of a racing heart lingering in her chest and she swallows, suddenly fighting back tears. Worry is steadily seeping into her heart and for the first time, she allows herself to wish that she hadn’t ridden into Osgiliath alone. That Lothrandir had come with her.  
  
Her thoughts now turn forcefully to the Grey Company and she bites her lip at the memory of the illusion of Golodir’s body lying in the streets above. _“Does hated Golodir feel my presence even now?”_ She thinks, and then her bones turn to ice. “The fell mood…” She whispers, or at least, she thought she had, because Derufin and Duilin turn to look at her from where they sit a short ways away. She ignores them and bites her lip until she tastes blood in her mouth. “Of course.” She mutters.  
  
Tears gather in her eyes once more as she recalls more of “Gothmog’s” words. _“While he lives I cannot die!_ “Oh no.” She thinks, dread settling so familiarly into the pit of her stomach. “How many more must be lost!” She says blankly to Epitaph and the lynx tips her heads. Someone says something to her, but she doesn’t hear them. She feels her whole body shuddering and **knows**. With a sudden terrible certainty; she knows.

**Author's Note:**

> The ironic thing here would be if Golodir doesn't actually die. I hope he doesn't. But I think he will. (side-note with a bit of SPOILER ALERT: he does. I totally called it.)
> 
> Also, mentions of "Patchwork", "Hawthorn", "Kuive", and "Arinanka"; Patchwork is the mottled raven, Hawthorn is the bay horse, Kuive is the ashen eagle, and Arinanka is a bear; likely the Wildpaw. They're all dead. And Mairon and Moondancer have been discussed before, so :P


End file.
